


18-Partners in Crime

by WritestuffLee



Series: The Warrior's Heart, Volume 4, The Long Shadow [18]
Category: Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: AU, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-06-06
Updated: 2008-06-06
Packaged: 2017-12-12 06:00:06
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/808112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WritestuffLee/pseuds/WritestuffLee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An unwelcome success and a surprising failure.</p>
            </blockquote>





	18-Partners in Crime

Bruck’s attacker came at him so fast that Obi-Wan only saw a blur. He was half again as big as Bruck, a preternaturally calm Devish who’d just thrown the young knight three meters across the room. Bruck had hit the floor hard and started to skid, but tucked and rolled as he did and was coming up out of it even as the Devish charged him in total silence. The quiet was far more unnerving than a roar would have been, and Bruck imitated it. Clearly, no one was wasting any energy or breath on psyching out his opponent. Obi-Wan watched just as calmly as Bruck crouched in one place with kilos of bulky, musclebound Devish hurtling toward him. Beside him, Obi-Wan’s padawan, Jicky, gave a little _eep_ of horror.

When Bruck did move, finally, it was an efficient, barely discernible blur of both hands and one foot that Obi-Wan definitely didn’t see in detail. The end result was clearly visible, however. The Devish went down, a victim of his own momentum, caught in three separate places and twisted neatly into the air just above the floor, with no room to maneuver. Like Bruck had, he hit hard, despite the small distance between himself and the ground, but face-down. Obi-Wan heard the rush of air forced from the Devish’s lungs as Bruck caught hold of both arms in such a way that any move on his captive’s part would break them. Bruck stood over the Devish with a fiendish grin, limbs trembling with fatigue but ready to go again if necessary.

“I concede,” Combat Master Oghak Muk panted into the mat, wincing. Both of them were gasping and wringing wet after more than an hour of going at each other all-out. The body odor in the practice room was enough to choke a rancor, Obi-Wan observed silently. “Not bad, Knight Chun. Not bad at all,” the Combat Master added as Bruck let him go. He rolled over onto his back as Bruck collapsed next to him, two sets of lungs working like bellows.

“Thanks, Master. That’s quite a compliment, coming from you,” Bruck acknowledged between gasps. “I think you just didn’t want to get up once you were down this time. I may never get off this floor again either.”

“Stamina is sometimes an advantage over strength, Knight Chun,” the Devish admitted. At least Obi-Wan thought it might be an admission.

“I’ll remember that, Master.”

From the sidelines of the mat, Obi-Wan started to clap and Jicky joined in more enthusiastically. Bruck struggled up onto his elbows to see who it was, then flopped back down again, groaning, obviously finding no need to impress his audience. Master Muk, however, rolled smoothly back onto his shoulders and propelled himself upright again, then extended a hand to Bruck, who took it with another groan. The two opponents bowed to one another and Master Muk went off to the showers with a nod to Obi-Wan and his padawan, leaving the three humans behind. Obi-Wan tossed Bruck a towel, hitting him in the face and prompting a giggle from Jicky. Bruck peeled it away and rubbed halfheartedly over his sopping, lengthening hair as he staggered to one of the benches. Once there, he wiped his face and neck and draped the towel around his shoulders, then sprawled out over the hard surface with a sigh.

“I don’t think I’ve ever heard Master Muk say ‘not bad’ to anyone before,” Obi-Wan observed. “That really is a compliment coming from him. Whatever you did, it was brilliant, B-Boy. I just wish I’d seen it. Sith, but you’re fast.”

“Thanks,” Bruck mumbled. “It was either that or die ignominiously. All it would have taken is him falling on me once more and I’d have been pulped.” Bruck squinted up at Jicky. “No matter what Master Yoda says, sometimes size _does_ matter. Remember that, Padawan.”

“But only when they’re falling on you, huh, Knight Chun,” Jicky replied with a grin.

“Especially then,” Bruck agreed.

“You’ll have to show me that move some time,” Obi-Wan added.

“Give me a couple of tens, will ya? I need some recovery time.” Bruck wiped more sweat off his face and sat up again, groaning.

“Not much recovery time, I’m afraid,” Obi-Wan informed him, taking a seat next to him on the bench. “We’ve got a mission.”

“‘We’? As in you and Jicky, or you and I and Jicky?”

“Well, I’m here telling you about it and I don’t generally leave my padawan behind, so I’ll leave you to deduce the answer.”

“You’re kind of a team now, is that it?” Bruck winked at Jicky, making her grin wider. “How’d you get stuck with the Uptight Knight?”

“I dunno, Master,” Jicky replied, winking back. “I guess the Force just decided someone had to keep an eye on him, now that you’re a knight.”

Bruck laughed and tousled her hair while Obi-Wan looked on with a good-natured half-smile. “The background materials are already in your com,” he told Bruck. “We’ve got a briefing in an hour and a half. See you then?”

Bruck groaned and got to his feet. “If I don’t drown in the showers.”

“At least your corpse will smell better,”was Obi-Wan’s parting shot.

 

“This smells almost as bad as I did,” Bruck growled as they exited the council chambers, Jicky trying to both scurry to keep up with her master and look dignified doing it. “I don’t understand why they didn’t send you and Qui-Gon.”

“Qui’s off on another mission,” Obi-Wan replied, which was not quite the truth. Qui-Gon was off on another “personal leave,” according to the duty roster, though Obi-Wan knew it was nothing of the sort. What it actually was, though, was still a mystery. “Though I wondered the same thing myself. I think the Council would like to see how well we work together.”

“You mean when I’m not rescuing you?” Bruck jibed.

“Well, it’s a little different when I’m upright and conscious, isn’t it?” Obi-Wan returned with an amused twitch of his lips. Bruck thought it was a mark of how far Ben had come that they could joke about that disastrous mission now. “Seriously, I think they’re sending the two of us because this is likely to get extremely nasty without much warning, despite whatever negotiations we manage to get going.”

“If we do at all. I think we’re just as likely to wind up in the middle of a riot, from the sound of it.”

“Hence your presence. I hear from reliable sources you’re not bad in a fight.”

“Well, you’re Jicky’s problem now if you get into trouble,” Bruck warned. “You still owe me one.”

They went directly from the briefing to their own quarters to pack, Jicky doing so with a silence that usually meant she was chewing something over. Obi-Wan took his pack from her with thanks, but paused at the door. “Is there something you want to ask me, Padawan? About the mission, or something else?”

Jicky pressed her lips together then looked up at him. “This sounds a lot like that mission we went on a few tens ago, where they were burning people. Only worse, maybe.”

“In some ways, perhaps. It’s a very repressive regime and there’s been a great deal of unrest lately. But here at least we’re going with the purpose of negotiating, not delivering an ultimatum. We’ve actually been asked to mediate, which may or may not be a good sign.”

“Doesn’t that mean they want to fix this?”

“You’d think so, wouldn’t you? It may just be lip service, however, to try and quiet the fears of the people who are spurring the protests, and to keep the Senate off the government’s back. People often call us in just because it looks like they’re making a good-faith effort, when they really have no intention of compromising at all. Those are the sorts of jobs Master Jinn generally gets. He’s very good at making people sit down and hammer out agreements.” _Even if it takes a bit of “persuasion” on his part,_ Obi-Wan thought to himself.

“So why are they sending Knight Chun with us? I mean, really? Because he’s good in a fight?”

“In part, I think. But also because he’s good at reconnaissance, at sussing out what’s really going on under the surface, out in the streets. We’ll need a set of eyes and ears to tell us that, since we’ll be locked up negotiating all day. I’m afraid you’re in for some tedium, Jicky.”

“Yeah, I wonder how long that’ll last?” she said cheekily.

“Come on, you,” Obi-Wan said, smiling. “We’ll never hear the end of it if we’re late.”

* * *

As he had the first time, Ton-Bai met him at the gate to what had once, long ago, been the House Jinn hunting estate on Ruhiri. That was the only similarity between his last visit and this one. The site had changed drastically in the two and a half years he’d been away. Instead of the overgrown ruin he’d last seen, the site was cleared of undergrowth and scattered with buildings in various stages of completion. There was even a proper road to it now, though it was narrow and concealed from the air by trees. The old compound wall had been rebuilt in stone, and a cozy gatehouse added. Ton-Bai met him there.

The older man bowed as Qui-Gon dismounted the speeder bike—left last time in a garage at the port for a fee—then pulled him into a back-breaking hug. “It’s good to see you again, Qui-Gon. But why are you looking so surprised, old friend?”

Qui-Gon returned the embrace and stepped back, surveying the man who had run the Jinn estates on Danorra for almost as long as Qui-Gon had been alive. Though more than two decades older than Qui-Gon, he looked bronzed and fit, white hair tied back in a long, tight braid. “Certainly not at your capabilities, although I didn’t expect to see quite so much done this time, I admit. Where did you find the workforce?”

“Locals, mostly, with rented droids for the heavy work; their memories were wiped as per your instructions before they were returned. The locals know very well how to raise a building in good time, and they’ve been working with each other for years. We stopped for planting and harvest, of course, and I returned the favor, but that didn’t slow us much. That’s where a good bit of your credits have gone, and they were happy for them.”

“Well-spent, I’d say, from the looks of it. Give me the tour, then.”

He’d seen the plans, of course, but even the model or what Qui-Gon had visualized was nothing like the reality. Most of the construction was already done: the scattered small cottages and central building, the kitchen and refectory, the powerplant—probably one of the first things to go up—and of course the infrastructure that supported all of it. What remained was the finishing work on the outbuildings and barns, the infirmary, and some workshops. And they were still awaiting the arrival of the last important bits of equipment, mostly for the infirmary and kitchen. The final delivery would include the furnishings, though some of those—like the refectory tables and benches—had been commissioned from local craftsmen.

The buildings were a beautifully simple fieldstone-and-timber design, well-insulated, braced for quakes, and fire-proofed as much as possible. They would be cool in summer and warm in winter. The roofs had high peaks to slough off snow and tightly laid wooden shingles. Each cottage would eventually have a porch as well, but those were last-minute details. Ton-Bai took him inside one cottage and Qui-Gon found it snug and deceptively roomy, without a bit of wasted space, including the wooden rafters which were lofted for storage and could also be converted for living. Qui-Gon took an immediate liking to the place, imagining himself here with Obi-Wan and how cozy it would be with the stone hearth and simple furnishings in the dead of winter, filled with the smells of woodsmoke and one of Obi-Wan’s meals.

Outside again, Ton-Bai walked him around the remainder of the site, pointing out the many large trees they had preserved during site clearing; the spaces left between buildings for gardens; where the final paths and road would lie. He was clearly deeply interested in where the gardens would go and what would be planted besides food and crops. “The villagers build hives for their honeymakers,” Ton-Bai added, “and suggested we do too. They’ll pollinate the crops as well as sweeten the tea.”

“We?” Qui-Gon replied with a crooked grin.

Ton-Bai looked taken aback. “You didn’t think I’d miss seeing how this turned out, did you? Come inside. We’re having dinner with Hizme. You look hungry after your journey.”

 

A member of the Jedi Engineering Corps who specialized in building emergency and refugee settlements, Hizme had seen to her own and Ton-Bai’s comforts first in the building, since they were staying on-site. She was one of the contacts Qui-Gon had been given for this mission, but he had only spoken to her once before in person, when they had gone over the plans for this place. A nut-brown older woman with a short cap of white hair, weathered like last season’s fruit but still handsome and energetic, Hizme was nearer Ton-Bai’s age than Qui-Gon’s. She had seen a great deal of suffering at various disaster sites and war-torn areas in her work with the Order. This was something new for her. Earlier, she had told Qui-Gon that she’d jumped at this opportunity when it was offered. He wished he could say the same.

The former manager of the Jinn estates had put in his own garden nearly the first thing, he told Qui-Gon, in part to see what the land would grow and in part to give both himself and Hizme fresh produce. They’d bought seeds as well as meat and other staples from the nearby village and put by stores for winter during the two season cycles they’d spent here. Qui-Gon had arrived in the middle of their third, when everything was flourishing. The soil seemed rich here, near the river, and grew nearly anything, according to Ton-Bai. Qui-Gon and Ton-Bai sat now in Hizme’s cabin eating a dinner that Ton-Bai had cooked.

“I’m looking forward to settling down here permanently,” Hizme said over their meal. “I’ve enjoyed designing and building this place, a permanent place, instead of all those refugee camps where everything’s makeshift and make-do.”

“Yes, I can see why,” Qui-Gon agreed, savoring the forkful of stew and the still-warm bread. Ton-Bai had managed to brew his own beer as well, and though this wasn’t his favorite beverage, Qui-Gon agreed it was tasty. “I imagine the mood will be quite different here, as well.”

“One would hope, even though it’s a kind of exile. Although I prefer to think of it as retirement.”

“Yes. That makes it seem less harsh,” Qui-Gon agreed. “Though of course not everyone here will be of the age for that.”

“Thank the Force, too,” she laughed. “Nothing worse than a community of grumpy old geezers complaining about their ailments. It’ll be good to have younglings running around too.”

Ton-Bai listened to them bantering in silence and with an amused look on his face. Qui-Gon, in turn, watched his old friend’s glances in Hizme’s direction with a growing realization: _He’s fallen in love with her._ What Hizme felt was less apparent, at least until they finished their meal and she rose to clear the table. Dishes in hand, she leaned over and kissed Ton-Bai’s forehead with something more than just affection. “Thank you for the lovely meal, old man,” she said, and Ton-Bai blushed. Qui-Gon wrapped his hands around his mug and looked down into it to hide his smile.

“There’s no point in mocking me, Master Jinn,” Ton-Bai scolded. “I know all about that young man of yours. I hope to meet him someday.”

Qui-Gon looked away. “I hope you do, too, old friend.”

* * *

“Shit. This is getting bad,” Bruck muttered, syncing a copy of the latest update to Obi-Wan’s datapad. They were still some way out from the edge of the system but would drop into orbit around their destination within a day’s rotation. This time, it was just the three of them aboard their small ship, allowing Bruck to pose innocuously as their pilot when they landed. “They’ve started firing on the protesters. And the protestors haven’t done anything but walk down the street.”

“No provocation?” Obi-Wan asked, surprised.

“No, the government’s troops started it. For once, we’ve got a religious group that walks the talk. It’s the mandrites keeping the crowd in order.”

“And leading the protests, I see. Is that what you’re going out as?”

“No, the clothing’s too binding, too hard to move in. Besides, I’d have to shave my head and I’m just getting rid of the padawan buzz, thank you. There are a lot of people about our age in the crowd. I’ll just go as another disaffected youth.”

“Now there’s a hard part for you to play,” Obi-Wan replied sarcastically. Jicky snickered.

“I know,” Bruck agreed. “It’ll take all my acting talent, and then some.”

“What about your saber?”

“Haven’t worked that out yet. Any suggestions? It’s tough when the climate is warm like this and the clothing is thin. It’s so much easier when you can wear a jacket.”

“Well, down your pants is never a good idea,” Obi-Wan replied with a glint of mischief. Jicky’s snicker turned to a full-fledged laugh.

Bruck rolled his eyes. “Thank you. I never would have made that connection myself.”

“Actually, look at the sleeves,” Jicky said thoughtfully, pointing to one of the still holos of a crowd fleeing soldiers. “They’re long and pretty loose. Could you do a forearm sheath? Maybe put your arm in a sling? People would be careful not to jostle you too much.”

Obi-Wan nodded. “And you’d get sympathy—”

“—and people willing to open up to me if I told them I’d broken it running from the government forces. Pretty smart padawan you got there, Kenobi. Come on, Jicky, you can help me rig it up.”

 

Master Obi-Wan had been right about one thing: negotiations were really tedious and boring, more so when you were only observing and not doing anything else. Well, that wasn’t exactly true. She was doing other things. They’d been here five days already, and Master Obi-Wan had put her in charge of collating Master Chun’s reports from the field and quizzed her every night on what she’d heard during the day and how that fit with what Master Chun was telling them. She sort of wished she were out in the field with Master Chun, instead. What he was doing sounded exciting.

Master Obi-Wan seemed to sense her disgruntlement and was surprisingly sympathetic. “I’d rather be out in the field, too, but this is even more important, and it’s a skill I’m good at. We’re sent where our talents are most useful, Padawan. Believe me, you’ll see plenty of excitement during your career,” her master told her, toeing off his boots in the quarters they’d been assigned in the Republic’s embassy.

“I guess so, Master,” Jicky agreed reluctantly, checking that their scramblers were still untampered with. One of the first lessons she’d learned in the field was to assume their quarters were wired, even at their own embassies, and where to look for the bugs. “It’s just—”

“This isn’t what you thought being a Jedi was going to be like, is it?” Obi-Wan finished for her.

“Not really,” she admitted. “I thought it would be less talk and more action.”

“The reason for all this talk is so there will be less action. The thing to remember is that all that excitement that looks so attractive is really danger, and can get you killed. It’s often a necessary part of the job, but a Jedi doesn’t go looking for it, Jicky.”

“No, Master. I understand,” Jicky said, taking her master’s boots and putting them aside to shine later. And she did, it was just that—

“That said, what’s our field operative got for us today?”

“Master Chun hasn’t checked in yet,” Jicky began, surveying her datapad, “but there were more protests today, and a big sweep of the crowd. He might have gotten caught up in that.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Yes, he might have, since he was probably in the thick of it. But this is the first time they’ve arrested anyone since we arrived. Not good. I fear we’re being used as a cover for harsher tactics, Padawan. The Premiere thinks he can negotiate with us in the appearance of good faith while he clamps down on his people.”

Jicky mirrored her master’s expression as she skimmed the news channels and independents that were still managing to broadcast. “Not just a sweep of the crowds either,” she added. “They’re raiding the monasteries. And there have been reports of late-night household raids, too. People are starting to sound kinda panicky.”

Jicky could sense the worry in her master as Obi-Wan took out his own datapad to see for himself what was going on. That Knight Chun hadn’t yet checked in was not a good sign, though it might mean only that he was delayed. At least that was what they both hoped it meant.

Obi-Wan scanned the feeds carefully, engrossed in his datapad for almost a half-hour. Jicky, in the meanwhile, set out their evening meal for them and when it was ready, said quietly, “Master, you should eat.” Obi-Wan looked up, obviously preoccupied. “Yes, thank you, Padawan,” he murmured, still scrolling through the feeds, and sat himself down opposite her at the table in their suite. Jicky waited patiently for him to come to some conclusion while she tucked into her own food.

Halfway through their meal, he looked up at her as though seeing her for the first time since they’d entered their suite. “Here’s what we’ll do,” he said, as though picking up an ongoing conversation, “we’ll give Knight Chun another day’s rotation to check in. If he hasn’t by then, it will be your job to find him.”

Jicky broke into a broad grin. This sound like just what she’d been hoping for. “Yes, master!”

“And, Padawan,” Obi-Wan cautioned.

“Yes, Master?”

“Be careful what you wish for.”

* * *

The three of them talked far into the night, discussing the work yet to be done and modifications to the original plan suggested by both Hizme and Ton-Bai. When none of them were capable of coherent thought anymore, Ton-Bai showed Qui-Gon to his own cabin, where he’d made up the bed.

“I rarely sleep here any more, Qui-Gon, so don’t feel you are putting me out of my own bed,” Ton-Bai informed him. “Please, make yourself at home.”

“Thank you, old friend,” Qui-Gon replied, looking around at the neat room which reminded him so much of Ton-Bai’s home on Dannora, seen once many years ago.

“I think I should be thanking you,” the older man said with a smile. “I never expected to find myself as happy as I am these days, in the latter part of my life. This has been a grand adventure in ways I never expected.”

Qui-Gon returned the smile, mischief glowing in his eyes. “Who knew an old man like you would be craving adventure?”

Ton-Bai retorted, “Go to bed, youngling. I’ll see you in the morning.”

 

For all his fatigue and the comfort of the bed—the familiar Dannoran down-filled mattress, unrolled across woven rush mats—it was some time before Qui-Gon fell asleep. There was little to worry him; the project was ahead of schedule, under budget, and unfolding according to plans. From Ton-Bai’s and Hizme’s reports, he’d chosen a good site that would be easily self-sustaining. Even their erstwhile neighbors seemed less hostile to the project than his initial meeting with them had suggested. Eventually, he decided it was his own foreboding that was keeping him awake. Time seemed so short now, though he’d been given no true deadline. But his own heart told him he had, perhaps, a year at best before the final phase would be set in motion. And then there would be no turning back.

Eventually, he managed to release his anxieties into the Force and sleep, but it wasn’t an easy one without Obi-Wan at his side.

* * *

“Found him!” Jicky crowed triumphantly as she slipped into their suite four nights later. She was filthy and ragged, masquerading as a beggar’s child, but satisfaction radiated off her like sunlight.

Obi-Wan felt a sense of relief fill him; Jicky would not look so triumphant if Bruck were dead. “Is he hurt?”

Her expression sobered. “Not much, he said. But he doesn’t sound good, and they’re starting to drag people in from the cells for questioning. There’s a whole bunch of prisoners all together in each one, crammed in so nobody can lie down. I don’t think he’s slept much, and he’s all bruised up. I think they broke his arm for real.”

“Does he still have his saber?”

“He said he didn’t take it with him the day he was captured.”

Obi-Wan frowned. “Idiot,” he muttered .“Well, let’s see what we can do about getting him out.”

Jicky pinpointed on the map the building where Bruck was being held and sketched the layout of as much of the interior as she’d been able to see, then outlined the guard arrangements she’d observed. They slipped out of their accommodations the same way Jicky had for the last three nights running: through the embassy’s underground garage. Jicky was still wearing her beggar’s outfit beneath her cloak, but had added her lightsaber. They both had pulled their hoods up to flit from shadow to shadow through the darkened, curfew-emptied streets. There were a number of military patrols out and they grew thicker as the pair approached the detention facility. Obi-Wan felt a cold chill go through him at the first sight of it.

“They all look the same,” he murmured. The same looming darkness broken by searchlights, the same shimmer of forcefields, the same laserwire criss-crossing the top of the thick walls. Desert or tropical climate, all these old prisons looked the same. This one, he thought, would be dank and moldy, not hot and dry like the last one. And he would have to go into this one, too. He shivered.

“Master?” Jicky whispered, sounding worried even at that volume.

Suddenly aware of her presence again, Obi-Wan shook himself and touched her shoulder. Force knew what was leaking through his shields. They circled around the side of the compound to another service door that was not so heavily guarded. While Jicky, having shed her cloak and saber again, drew the guards away from their posts, dodging their kicks and cursing their meanness, Obi-Wan took both down at once by the simple expedient of getting behind them and knocking their heads together. Before they regained their senses, the two Jedi had them bound by their thumbs and gagged, and were dragging them behind a stack of crates.

The passkey they got around by appropriating one of the guard’s tags. Obi-Wan suspected it would only get them so far inside and he was right. The service areas and guards’ rooms were the only areas accessible with the tag. The doors leading to the cells were both watched and blocked with forcefields.

Obi-Wan decided to try a direct approach.

Motioning Jicky to stay back, he stepped out of the shadows with his hood thrown back. “I beg your pardon,” he said amiably, gesturing slightly with one hand. “I’m looking for one of your prisoners, and you’re going to help me.”

The guard’s eyes glazed a little, “I’m going to help you,” he repeated listlessly.

“—by going to sleep,” Obi-Wan finished, and touched the man’s temples. He sagged into Obi-Wan’s arms, who held him while Jicky slipped on the thumb cuffs. Obi-Wan stuffed a wadded length of the man’s torn uniform in his mouth, made sure he could breathe, and turned to take the coverplate off the lock.

“Not too complicated,” he observed softly. “This should do it.” He pulled one chip out and popped in a sliver of metal from his utility belt. “Ah—yes.” The forcefield snapped off as though shorted out, which it had been. Obi-Wan and his padawan moved stealthily into the corridor beyond it.

“This way,” Jicky whispered when they reached a junction.

Obi-Wan followed. The new corridor was lined with cells, each one overcrowded to the point of putting its occupants in danger of being crushed or suffocated. Obi-Wan felt his flesh crawl, not sure which was worse: isolation or this enforced proximity. There were too many people for Obi-Wan to pick out Bruck’s signature, but Jicky stopped in front of one of the cells and called softly into it. Obi-Wan added his own voice.

“Bruck? It’s Ben. Can you work your way forward? Bruck?”

Obi-Wan tried to ignore the eyes of the prisoners he’d woken calling Bruck’s name. Many of them had been asleep standing up, supported by their fellow cell mates in a stifling block.

“Not without hurting someone,” Bruck called softly from somewhere at the edge toward the middle of the cell. “No room to move. You’ll have to let us all out—or leave me here for the duration.”

 _The duration of what?_ Obi-Wan wondered.

“Personally, I’d prefer you get me out. But if it gets out who did it, it’ll screw up your negotiations.

“Please, Excellency,” a lightly accented voice from the front of the crowd broke in, speaking Basic. Obi-Wan shifted his gaze and found himself looking into the dark eyes of an older mandrite in deep red robes now dirtied and torn. His face was heavily bruised but his expression reminded Obi-Wan of his own master in its serenity. “They are beating prisoners. I am afraid some of them will be killed, or their families attacked and imprisoned. You see how they are holding us here, and we have done nothing but walk peacefully through our own city in silence. At least let the citizens go. My fellow mandrites and I will stay.”

Obi-Wan steeled himself to refuse, to tell this man that the Jedi were not allowed to interfere in internal planetary politics, that it would compromise their neutrality if he did—all of which would wrench his heart to say, true as it was. He had opened his mouth to reply when a muffled, high-pitched scream rent the air from beyond the cell block. It made the fine hairs stand up all over Obi-Wan’s body. He knew that sound. He’d made that sound himself, too recently to bear.

“Stay here,” he told Jicky and ran toward it.

* * *

Qui-Gon stayed several more days and, despite himself, sank into Ton Bai’s and Hizme’s routine with more pleasure than he expected. They worked hard, but not at the breakneck, urgent pace such projects often had in both Hizme’s and Qui-Gon’s experience. They had the leisure to add fine details and the luxury of droids to do the heavy work.

Each morning, Qui-Gon and Ton-Bai attended to the gardening while Hizme went to supervise the droids raising the last of the utility buildings. The plots were still relatively small and both men took pleasure in doing the work by hand. Eventually, at least some of it would need mechanical aid, but for now, four hands with hoes and spades and gloves were enough to keep the weeds at bay.

By mid-meal, Qui-Gon usually found himself sweating and streaked with mud and ravenous in a way he seldom was. Coming from their own gardens, the food was not only flavorful, but came with the extra satisfaction of springing from one’s own labor. In the afternoons, he and Ton-Bai and Hizme worked on the finishing construction: porches, trim, landscaping. With an extra set of hands they accomplished a surprising amount of work. And it was good, Qui-Gon found, to have more than just a supervisory role in this project.

But it was the landscaping that most interested Ton-Bai. One afternoon, shortly before Qui-Gon left, the older man took him up a hill behind the main site, one that overlooked the tiny, still-shaggy and neglected vineyard. The hill was mostly meadow with a copse of trees at the top and a small brook running down one side of it. The top provided a beautiful view across the rolling countryside, with the river in the near distance, fields and the nearby village in one direction, and kilometers of forest in every other. Qui-Gon inhaled deeply. Fresh as the air was on this world, it seemed fresher still here. Even the vegetation seemed brighter and more lush in this spot than any others. The Living Force welled up around him in joyous fountain.

“How extraordinary,” he murmured, sinking onto his knees in the thick, tall grasses. His head felt light; it was like being suddenly drunk.

Ton-Bai watched him curiously. “What is?” he asked.

“The last time I felt this,” Qui-Gon said slowly, “was the evening before I was knighted.” He looked up at Ton-Bai. “Every Jedi sits a night-long vigil in meditation before his ceremony, deep underground at the original well the temple was founded around, millennia ago. The Temple on Coruscant is called the Wellspring Temple because of it. The Force is very strong there. It saturates the chamber, the ground, the stones around it, like it does here. Do you feel it?”

“I felt something,” Ton-Bai agreed. “And I suspected it might be something like that. At any rate, I thought you should know about it.”

“Yes,” Qui-Gon acknowledged, sounding rather distracted, as he was. He was still listening to, feeling, inhaling, tasting the Living Force around him. His midichlorians seemed to be singing, making his blood hum. It was intoxicating. One could lose oneself here, quite easily. It would be a marvelous place to—

“—put in a tea garden,” Ton-Bai was saying.

Qui-Gon blinked. “Pardon?”

“I thought this would be a good place for a tea house, with a garden. There’s a small artesian spring in that copse, there. You saw the brook on the way up.”

Qui-Gon looked around, envisioning the hilltop’s transformation in the shape of the tea gardens he knew. They seemed far too formal for this place. “Show me,” he said.

Qui-Gon was both relieved and unsurprised to hear that Ton-Bai preferred to leave the site as wild as possible, taming it to look artfully untamed, putting up a tiny structure not much more than a hut near the shade of the trees, partially damming the brook to form a spilling pool, putting down a meandering path of river stones and a few benches hidden in the native vegetation, encouraging the growth of wildflowers, perhaps planting a flowering tree or two. Qui-Gon nodded along with him to everything he described. Yes. Yes, it would be lovely. It would an excellent retreat, a delightful place to meditate, saturated with the Force as it was.

“Yes, do it. There are funds enough—”

Ton-Bai looked at him askance. “Funds for what?”

“Materials? Labor?” Qui-Gon replied a little sheepishly, grasping Ton-Bai’s point.

“Scrap, most of it. And the labor would be mine, part of that fee you offered me. But now that you bring it up, I would like to renegotiate that, somewhat.”

“In what way?” Qui-Gon was surprised. He knew for a fact Ton-Bai was not an avaricious person and the fee was already quite generous. So he should not have been surprised at the man’s answer, and yet he was.

“I’d like to stay here, Qui-Gon. Make a place for myself here.” The older man took a deep breath and let it out slowly, looking around him. “My children are grown and have their own lives. My wife has been dead for many years. I have no real responsibilities keeping me anywhere. Before you asked me to help you create this place, I was losing my purpose, feeling useless. I would like to do more than imagine the people who will inhabit this place. I would like to meet them, and help them make it work. I would like to be an active part of it.”

Oddly enough, Qui-Gon felt an enormous weight lift from his shoulders, even though he knew it would not be so simple.

“It’s a one-way ticket, old friend,” Qui-Gon warned. “That’s why I didn’t ask it of you. Once the residents arrive, there will be little, if any, contact with the outside.”

Ton-Bai laughed. “Life is a one-way ticket, Master Jinn. Before I came out here, I arranged my affairs as though I were dying. Which, indeed, I am. We all are. I loved managing your family’s estates, but it was a huge and exhausting job, and I was eventually glad to turn over the reins to my son and daughter. It’s a young person’s work. And they were not my lands. But this, this feels like home to me. I would like to see it through. And I would be content to be buried here.”

Qui-Gon was silent for a time, though he already knew what he would say. Ton-Bai’s presence had already been invaluable. And its continuation would make the success of this project far easier and more likely. But he wanted to make sure he was not making this decision out of his own needs or desires. He closed his eyes and reached out to the current of Force in this place, and found it singing with welcome for both of them. Ton-Bai was right; he belonged here.

“If that is what you wish, old friend, I would be happy to have you here. It would ease my mind in more ways than one. I think Hizme would be pleased, too.”

“So she said.” Ton-Bai broke into a broad smile. “Good. Very good.”

Qui-Gon agreed.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Beyond the cell block was a corridor lined with interrogation rooms. Obi-Wan heard another soul-searing wail and made right for it, spearing the lock with his saber and muscling into the room as the door slid open. Inside was literally the stuff of his recent nightmares: a half-naked man chained to the wall, head covered in a black hood, body scored with burns and dark with bruises. Worse, crouched in a corner was a woman with a young child, both of them sobbing and clutching each other. Three men in uniforms stood over the prisoners, one holding what Obi-Wan instantly recognized as a crowd-control prodstick, their mouths gaping in shock at Obi-Wan’s appearance.

The room suddenly dissolved around him and he saw himself as though from a distance, hanging against the wall, naked, shaking convulsively as a prodstick was applied to his genitals. He doubled over, pain arcing through him, almost disabling him. He fought it off, fought to stay in the here and now, without much success. The smells and sounds of his own torture closed in around him like a smothering fog.

« _Master! Obi-Wan!_ »

Jicky’s voice rang clearly in his head, shredding the illusion just enough to clear the pain away. No, he wasn’t there, wasn’t in chains, wasn’t a captive. He was free, and he had a weapon. . . .

 

After that, his recall of events became somewhat hazy, even later under the careful probing of Saesee Tiin.

In a red haze of rage, he had disabled the guards, cut free the prisoner and gone in search of others in the interrogation rooms, freeing three more before returning to the cell block. There, he had spiked the locks of all the cells, before Jicky could stop him. All but the mandrites had streamed out, overwhelming the prison’s guards with sheer numbers. Nineteen had died and more were injured in the ensuing prison break, but most had escaped, to fade into the night.

Thankfully, Obi-Wan had killed no one, though he suspected it had been a near thing. He vaguely remembered Jicky tugging at him with the Force, and his saber switching off suddenly as he brought it down in a killing arc, a guard staring wide-eyed at him with an arm thrown up to ward him off. The memory—even the possibility—sickened him.

Bruck, thankfully, had not been severely injured, though his arm was indeed broken. With Jicky’s help, they extricated themselves, calmed some of the crowd and helped disperse them, then got themselves back to the embassy. And there, Obi-Wan’s rickety control had finally broken down completely and he’d fallen into a full-blown flashback.

He’d come back to himself, crouched on the floor with his back against the foot of the sleep couch, Bruck’s voice in his ears, and Jicky’s voice in his head. Bruck was kneeling in front of him, one arm held at an awkward angle. He reached out with the other and touched Obi-Wan’s knee carefully, his expression wary. Jicky stood beside him, looking worried.

“Ben, are you in there?” Bruck said gently.

Obi-Wan nodded, swallowing heavily. “Yes,” he whispered, and looked up. The first thing he noticed was Bruck’s arm, then the cuts and bruises on his face. “For the Force’s sake, get that arm set, Bruck. I’m all right,” he said in a half-choked voice.

“You’re sure—”

“Yes!” he snapped, and forced himself to his feet. “Jicky, go with Knight Chun and see he’s taken care of.”

Bruck rocked back on his heels and got up stiffly, wincing.“I can get this taken care of myself, Ben. I think your padawan should stay with you. Somebody should.”

“I don’t need babysitting! Do as I say, Padawan,” Obi-Wan reiterated sharply, hearing Qui-Gon’s harshest masterly tones come out of his mouth for the first time. And the last, he hoped.

Jicky looked understandably torn, and he felt the light brush of her mind through their bond. His shields slammed down. “And get out of my head! Now! Do as I say.”

“Yes, Master,” Jicky replied with a stiff bow, looking deeply unhappy and a little angry.

When he was alone in their rooms, Obi-Wan sank down on the floor again, onto his knees, but it wasn’t to meditate. He went down on his face in the same posture in which padawans abased themselves before their masters, forehead to the floor, palms flat on either side of his head. A long shudder went through him as the enormity of his actions crashed down on him. “Oh gods,” he choked. “Oh gods oh gods oh gods.” He felt himself start to shake in the aftershock and with an almost superhuman effort, got hold of himself.

He struggled to sit up again and made himself quietly follow his own breath for several long minutes until he was sufficiently calm. Then he got to his feet, made himself presentable, and contacted the Council.

They called him home immediately, of course, he and Bruck both. Within hours, they were offplanet, heading back to Coruscant. Obi-Wan spent the majority of the trip writing up his report, what he could remember of it, and meditating. Jicky tip-toed around him in a way he found painful, but he had no reassurances for her that wouldn’t ring entirely hollow. And he was afraid that if he apologized, what little control he had now might shatter entirely. The best he could do was protect her against the fallout of his own failure. In the back of his mind he wondered if she wouldn’t be better off with another master, if this was how the rest of his career was going to shape up, and he had no way of knowing it wouldn’t.

Bruck not only didn’t tiptoe around him, but positively bullied him: to eat, to go to bed, to take a break. Their first night out, he slid in next to Obi-Wan in one of the narrow bunks and pulled him as close as his splinted and bound arm would allow. Obi-Wan discovered he wanted the comfort badly enough to at least allow Bruck to stay, if not actively encourage him. Even so, there wasn’t much sleep for him on the way back, and he was hollow-eyed by the time they returned to Coruscant. For once, he was relieved that Qui-Gon wasn’t there to meet him.

The Council meeting, like most such things, was worse in the anticipation than the reality. Jicky, with a reluctant air, filled in a number of the details, and Bruck a few more when they reported. Councillor Tiin very gently probed Obi-Wan’s memories, an experience Obi-Wan never wished to repeat, careful as it was. The team reports, taken together, obviously pointed to an unexpected and unforeseeable aberration in behavior. It was clear to all that Obi-Wan had not been completely in control of himself. And although the event had been unfortunate, it had also exposed the planetary government’s treatment of its prisoners, which made diplomatic efforts complicated, but also gave a wedge to the new negotiating team already on their way back.

The small circle of Councillors was surprisingly gentle with Obi-Wan. At least it was surprising to him. Beneath his calm exterior, Obi-Wan could sense Bruck was bristling, ready to ream somebody a new orifice if they dared even to think about haranguing his team leader.

“Of course, I take full responsibility for my actions, Masters,” Obi-Wan told them after the questions subsided. “Knight Chun and Padawan Salis merely made the best of a bad situation I created.”

“That’s enough, Knight Kenobi,” Windu said with a brusque kindness. “It’s something your master would do quite deliberately, but I don’t think any of us believe that’s what happened here. We may have hurried you back into the field before you were quite ready for it, though. We’re releasing you from field duty for the time being. Please check in with the healers as soon as possible. If they’re agreeable, we’ll put you on teaching rotation, and see where it goes from there.”

A stone fell into the pit of Obi-Wan’s stomach and he felt sick at their words. But he would allow none of that to show. “Yes, Masters,” he said quietly, bowing. “Thank you, Masters.”

“The Force be with you, Knight Kenobi, Knight Chun, Padawan Salis,” Windu said, sounding like he meant it as more than a formality.

They murmured their replies and departed.

Once they were in the hallway, Bruck touched his elbow and slid his hand down toward Obi-Wan’s, who pulled away and tucked his hands into his sleeves.

“Don’t,” he whispered, knowing any show of sympathy would break him open right here in public. “Don’t, please.”

He took a few deep breaths and they walked on down the corridor. “How’s your arm?” Obi-Wan asked to fill the silence, and because he hadn’t thought to ask before. _Selfish git,_ he scolded himself.

“It’s fine,” Bruck said in a casual tone, as though it were nothing. “Nice clean break, easily set. I”ll be doing push-ups in three tens or so.”

“Nothing else broken?”

“No, I just feel stupid getting caught like that. I guess we’re even.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Hardly. If anything, I owe you two now, and Jicky as well.”

“Ben, listen to me: it wasn’t that bad. You didn’t hurt anyone—”

“Thanks to Jicky, I believe. I notice you failed to mention that little detail in your report, Padawan.” Obi-Wan shot Jicky a questioning look.

“Mention what, Master?” She seemed genuinely mystified.

Obi-Wan stopped and looked at her with a frown. Had he really almost killed that guard? Was he remembering that or remembering imagining it? Jicky’s face revealed nothing but puzzlement; he didn’t think she’d learned to lie that well already. On the other hand, she did live with a consummate master of the art. Who knows what Qui-Gon had taught her when Obi-Wan wasn’t looking? He pinched the bridge of his nose, warding off an incipient headache.

“Let’s go home, Padawan,” he said quietly, fatigue filling his voice. Jicky followed along grimly. Bruck trailed along too, sticking to Obi-Wan with an annoying concern. The bruises on his face were a sickly shade of yellow now and there were lines of pain on his forehead and at his eyes.

“Is Isa in temple?” Obi-Wan asked as they got into the lift.

“Just back,” Bruck replied, giving him a puzzled look.

“Go home and let her make fun of you, then, B-Boy. I’m all right,” Obi-Wan insisted, softening what started out as a harsh tone.

Bruck laughed. “You know that’s just what she’ll do, too. She’s merciless. Are you sure you’re okay? If you want company—”

“I know you’d be here if I asked,” Obi-Wan replied softly, with a bitter smile. “That’s enough.”

Bruck reluctantly left them at his own floor with a careful hug and a “call if you need me,” whispered in Obi-Wan’s ear.

It felt strange to come back to empty rooms, and odder still that he could tell Qui-Gon was not there, despite their bond. He wondered, suddenly, what Qui-Gon had felt through it during this latest flashback, though his master, at least, had been heavily shielded while they were apart. Sadly, this was one time he could have used a bit of Qui-Gon’s fussing. At the moment, he wanted nothing so much as to crawl into Qui-Gon’s arms for comfort and reassurance, ridiculous as that was for a man with his own padawan. He looked over at Jicky, who was sorting out their packs with jerky little movements and swiping angrily at her eyes in between. _Yes, you do have an apprentice, you idiot. Get your priorities straight._

“Padawan,” he said gently, “come here.”

Jicky dropped her pack and rubbed her eyes furiously with her sleeve. Obi-Wan sat down on the sofa and drew her to him. She stood in front of him with her head down, sniffling and trying desperately to hide it. He put his hands on her thin shoulders and rubbed her arms as if to warm her.

“Jicky, I—I’m sorry this happened, that I put you in the middle of it. And I apologize for my behavior afterwards. I’ve been inexcusably rude to you and very unkind. You don’t deserve that sort of treatment, especially not since I suspect things would have been much worse than they were, if not for your intervention.”

Jicky looked up at him, about to protest, but Obi-Wan touched her nose with a finger. “I appreciate your loyalty,” he went on. “It’s an admirable trait. But I do not ever expect you to lie for me, Padawan. Or to cover up my mistakes. And I don’t approve of it.”

“I didn’t lie, Master,” she said indignantly. “I told the truth about everything I was asked. And everything I put in my report was true.”

Obi-Wan raised an eyebrow at her. “Has Master Jinn been tutoring you?”

“No,” she said with a little heat. “But it’s not like you suddenly turned into a Sith lord or something. You were just scared, and you thought you were protecting yourself. And me.”

“And you decided the Council didn’t need to know about that bit?”

“Yes, “ she said with her chin up in defiance. “’Cause nobody’s perfect, Master. Not even you. I know that. But it’s not fair to punish somebody who doesn’t know what they’re doing. I know what you were thinking and they don’t.”

“You know they’ll find out anyway, from my medical records. They’ll want to see the transcripts of my sessions with the healers.”

“Yeah, but the healers will put it in con—con—”

“Context?”

“Yeah. Context. It’ll sound better coming from them.”

 _It would indeed_ , he thought. _That was very perceptive._ “What if I had killed him? What would you do?”

Jicky stood silently for a moment, then swallowed hard and said, “I would have told them. And I would have tried to explain what you were thinking when it happened. But nothing did happen this time!” she insisted. “It didn’t _matter_.”

“An event with no consequences can still be important, Padawan. Details count.”

“Yes, Master,” Jicky replied impatiently. “I know. Only this didn’t.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. She was just as stubborn as Qui-Gon. They’d come full circle, and Obi-Wan had gotten a padawan just like his master. “Jicky, you know you saved that man’s life. That was very quick thinking on your part, and very brave of you. It takes a certain amount of self-possession to go against your own master, especially when he’s not in his right mind. I’m very proud of you, and glad to have you as my padawan. But don’t make a habit of prevaricating like that, no matter what Master Jinn tells you.”

“Okay. I promise I won’t make a habit of it.” Jicky grinned, then she leaned forward and hugged him, hard, and darted away to finish their unpacking.

 

He was half-afraid to go to sleep that night and wondered if he should have asked Bruck to stay, but there were no nightmares or flashbacks. The worst of it was the huge emptiness of their bed, with Qui-Gon away. Somehow it was completely different from sleeping alone in the field. Here, where signs of Qui-Gon’s presence were everywhere, it seemed wrong that his physical body should be absent. Halfway through the night, Obi-Wan woke feeling cold and got up to put on an old workout shirt and sleep pants—something he rarely slept in at home.

He let himself sleep late the next morning and Jicky had already gone to class by the time he woke. He made tea, checked his messages, and made an appointment for that afternoon to see Tianna—something he wasn’t looking forward to. Until then, there was nothing else to do. He didn’t trust himself in the salles just yet, and was afraid a workout with the combat master might trigger something again. Instead, he took himself off for a long swim that left him feeling much calmer, pleasantly fatigued, and ravenous. He met his padawan for mid-meal in the refectory and then headed off to his appointment.

Like the Council meeting, his session with Tianna wasn’t as bad as he’d feared. He told her about the event Jicky had omitted and was chagrined to realize he’d omitted it from his own report, no matter that he wasn’t sure at the time that it had happened.

Tianna was not surprised by any of it. “To be honest, Ow, I expected this to happen sooner or later. I’m a bit relieved it happened sooner. That probably means, as Master Windu said, that we pushed you back into the field before you were quite ready. It’s also a good sign that it took something so similar to your own experience to set it off. That means you’re coping well with the other stressors in your life, things that might be triggers, which is no mean feat for a Jedi in the field.”

“So what does this mean, Ti? More sessions with you?”

Tianna nodded. “That, and time. You’ve really done remarkably well, Ow. I don’t want you to see this as a setback. It’s more like a bump in the road.” She looked thoughtful for a moment. “Actually, there’s a group of people I’d like you to meet with. I think you’ll do each other a lot of good.”

Obi-Wan’s heart sank. It wasn’t the idea of working with a group of torture survivors that bothered him. It was the time involved. Though Tianna seemed confident this was something he could put behind him, Obi-Wan was neither so sanguine, nor happy about the hiatus in his padawan’s training. He was angry with himself and angry with—

“What’s that look about?” Tianna asked in her therapist voice. “What are you feeling, Ow?”

“Angry. Just angry,” he muttered and scrubbed at his face. “All right,” he sighed. “Point taken. I’m still too angry to be in the field. And according to Jedi dictum,” he said in a sarcastic tone, “that means I’m afraid of something, though I haven’t any idea what.”

“That’s what I’m here for, Ow,” Tianna said gently, patting his knee.

 

There was one bright spot in the day: Qui-Gon was home when he returned from his appointment.

Obi-Wan came in just as Qui-Gon was rising from their com with a look that was as near panic as a Jedi Master ever displayed, one that dissolved into relief as he caught sight of Obi-Wan coming through the door.

“You’re here—are you all right? And Bruck? Where’s Jicky? What happened?” his master demanded, all in a single breath.

Qui-Gon’s urgency made Obi-Wan smile. His master’s shields dropped and Obi-Wan felt himself almost bowled over with fading anxiety, relief, and a tsunami of love. He let the anxiety and relief wash around him and wallowed shamelessly in the love for a moment.

“One: yes, I’m here. Two: yes, I’m all right. Three: Bruck has already been delivered to the tender mercies of the healers and Isa; he has a broken arm and some fading bruises but is otherwise fine. Four: Jicky’s in class. Five: I’ll tell you the whole sordid story over tea.” He ticked his answers off on his fingers and made Qui-Gon smile in turn. “Now, did you get your ‘business’ taken care of?”

Qui-Gon sobered. “Yes, I did. It went quite well. Better than I’d expected, in fact. But I want to hear what happened with you, _kosai_. I’ll make us some tea. You sit; you look exhausted, love.”

They sat on the sofa with a pot of tea and oft-refilled cups as Obi-Wan gave yet another report, this time including both the detail he and Jicky had left out and Tianna’s assessment and recommendations. Qui-Gon let him speak without interruption, then pinched the bridge of his nose, still in silence, for several more long moments. Obi-Wan had never before realized how familiar that gesture was, or where he’d gotten it from. He took a sip of his tea to hide his amusement, reflecting that just being in the same room with Qui-Gon made him feel better.

Finally, Qui-Gon sighed softly and looked up. “Tianna warned me something like this might happen,” he admitted. “So I’m not surprised. Why it had to happen when I was away and shielding from you—”

“What could you have done either way, Qui?” Obi-Wan replied, quite sensibly. “I’m actually glad you didn’t have to endure it with me. Bad enough Jicky did. If you hadn’t been so well-shielded, you’d have gotten the whole unpleasant experience, just as she did.”

“But I would have known, at least.”

Obi-Wan looked away. “I’m glad you didn’t,” he said quietly. “I’m glad you weren’t in my head the way Jicky was—and probably Bruck too, now that I think of it—when I tried to kill that guard.”

“That’s a choice every Jedi faces in the field at some time or other, _kosai_. I seem to remember you being in my head with a training bond when I was hell-bent on killing someone. And I knew very well what I was doing. Jicky’s right about that: there is every difference in the world between killing for revenge and hallucinating that you are protecting yourself or someone else. You weren’t responsible for your actions, certainly not the way I was.”

“And without our padawans, we both would have been lost.” Obi-Wan grinned insouciantly, trying to lighten the atmosphere.

Qui-Gon remained serious, however. “Yes, we would have, both of us. If you knew how many times you’d saved me—” He leaned in and kissed Obi-Wan tenderly. Obi-Wan curled his fingers around the back of Qui-Gon’s neck to hold him there, and they explored one another’s mouths with great attention for a while. Obi-Wan sank into it, feeling more comfort than arousal in the kiss, even though they both were a little flushed and breathing faster by the time they broke it.

“We’ll get through this, love,” Qui-Gon told him, leaning his forehead against Obi-Wan’s. “Tianna’s right when she said this is just a bump in the road.”

Obi-Wan shook his head. “It’s difficult to see it that way. I thoroughly bollixed up a mission, Qui. Nineteen people died because of my—mistake. My lack of control.” He leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and ran his hands through his hair.

Qui-Gon’s large hand came down on his shoulder and stroked across and then down his back and up again, warm and reassuring. “More were freed from inhumane conditions and avoided further injury, too. And you could just as easily lay this at the Council’s door, for putting you back in the field before you were ready.”

Obi-Wan snorted. “Oh, yes, and that would change everything! How many missions have I been on since I was recertified?” He stopped and actually totted them up on his fingers. “Eight. It certainly looked like I was fine, didn’t it?”

“And this was the first that had any element of real unrest involved. The others were largely diplomatic missions, ceremonies and formalities. Although I would be worried if your conscience weren’t bothering you, I think you should stop trying so hard to blame yourself, Master Kenobi.”

Obi-Wan made a face, as much to himself as at Qui-Gon. “You’re right, as usual, my master. Even Mace warned me against that, in his oblique way.”

“I’m sure he sees it often enough,” Qui-Gon pointed out.

“True,” Obi-Wan agreed, then snorted a bitter laugh.

“What?”

“Just thinking about Jicky. Have you been coaching her? She’s learned to lie quite effectively, both outright and by omission.”

Qui-Gon looked affronted, but Obi-Wan knew it was merely an act. “I have not been ‘coaching’ your padawan, as you call it, Master Kenobi. I believe it’s a natural talent. You should cultivate it in her. Just because you fail miserably at it yourself doesn’t mean it’s always a negative ability.”

“Thank you, I’ve heard this lecture before, Master,” Obi-Wan replied in his driest tones. “But I doubt I’d be a very good teacher in that area. Perhaps I _should_ send her to you for that specialized training.”

Qui-Gon chuckled, unchastened. “Perhaps you should.”

Obi-Wan collapsed back into the sofa with another snort, this one of amusement, and let Qui-Gon’s arm slip around his shoulder. “I can’t even stay angry with you, let alone annoyed. Why is that?”

“Well, I’d say it was my natural charm, but that’s your strong suit, not mine. What a pair of con artists we’d make. You could reel them in and I could make them believe anything.” Qui-Gon kissed his temple. “Perhaps, instead, it’s my masterly ways,” he teased, leaning into Obi-Wan and pressing him inexorably down on the sofa.

The conversation deteriorated further from there until it was nothing but the sound of wet kisses and small noises of pleasure. Obi-Wan shivered as Qui-Gon’s mouth worked down his neck from behind his ear, nipping and worrying the flesh into painless bruises. When he reached Obi-Wan’s collarbone, he pushed aside the tunics and followed it across Obi-Wan’s shoulder, nibbling, while one hand tugged at his belt.

Meanwhile, Obi-Wan was busy with the same task: undressing his master, which was easier said than done with Qui-Gon’s hips pressing him into the cushions. Qui-Gon took some of his weight on his knees at Obi-Wan’s urging, still dipping in for kisses and nips as Obi-Wan divested him of belt, sash, and stola, then untied and pushed the outer tunic off his shoulders. Qui-Gon shrugged out of it and peeled the undertunic off himself while Obi-Wan pulled his loosened belt out from under himself and dropped it on the mingled and growing pile of clothing on the floor. With Qui-Gon’s aid, the sash soon followed, Obi-Wan lifting his hips at each unwrapping of it to graze Qui-Gon’s thigh, rubbing a rapidly solidifying erection against him. Qui-Gon pushed Obi-Wan’s outer tunic to the side and the inner one up his chest, then dipped in to mouth his nipples, just shy of what Obi-Wan liked and wanted, and thus tormenting.

“Bite, dammit,” he growled. Qui-Gon only looked up at him with an evil smile and continued to do what he was doing, which wasn’t enough. Obi-Wan pinched his ass.

That made Qui-Gon buck against him. “Mmmm, good idea,” Qui-Gon murmured. They opened the fastenings of each other’s trousers and pushed them down too, followed by small clothes, kicking them off to top up the heap of Jedi beige and brown beside the sofa.

Obi-Wan moaned when the bigger man pressed him down again on the sofa, their cocks rubbing together in an electric jolt that nearly set them both off. They stilled for a moment, breathing heavily, then both started to move against each other. Obi-Wan’s hands migrated to Qui-Gon’s ass, digging in and pulling him tighter, while Qui-Gon pinched his partner’s nipple, making him hiss, and went back to biting and sucking passion marks into Obi-Wan’s neck. Very shortly, their movements quickened and took on a desperate air, as did the sounds coming out of both of them. Obi-Wan wrapped his calves around Qui-Gon’s to give himself more leverage and pushed up, wanting more contact, more friction, more everything.

Qui-Gon wedged one hand between the cushion and Obi-Wan’s ass, took a handful, and squeezed bruisingly. Then he slid a finger down between Obi-Wan’s cheeks and pressed it against the little puckered muscle, not quite in, teasing, then just inside and out again. Obi-Wan whimpered with frustration, pushing up and back until finally Qui-Gon’s finger slid inside, stretching him just enough, enough, enough to make him arch up and cry out and come hard, enough to make Qui-Gon thrust twice more against him and plunge over the edge himself, head thrown back and eyelids fluttering in ecstasy.

They lay together on the sofa, sticky and sweaty and satisfied, Obi-Wan feeling immensely more at peace. Qui-Gon’s body was a comforting weight on him. He ran his hands lightly up and down the long back above him while they caught their breath..

“That’s one good thing about having you on teaching rota,” Qui-Gon murmured, nuzzling his neck. “More opportunities for making out on the sofa.”

“There’s a lesson I could stand to learn from you: how to see the bright side of everything,” Obi-Wan acknowledged a little ruefully.

“I’d be happy to enroll you in that class,” Qui-Gon offered mischievously.

“Mm, is this a sample lesson? If so, sign me up.”

“Done. Here’s lesson two: it also offers more opportunities for shared showers.” Qui-Gon lifted himself off his lover, got to his feet, and pulled Obi-Wan up after him.

Obi-Wan grinned. “I’m looking forward to the demonstration part of this course.”

 

Both men were sitting demurely on the sofa again, Qui-Gon reading class assignments, Obi-Wan one of his philosophical tomes, when Jicky returned from class. Though their soiled clothing had been placed in the laundry and the cushions examined for telltale evidence of their activity, she sniffed the air suspiciously as she put her pack down by the door.

“Have you two been doing icky stuff on the lounge again?” she demanded, looking disgusted.

Obi-Wan looked up and opened his mouth to reply, but Qui-Gon beat him to it, wearing a mild, completely innocent expression. “I promise you there was nothing ‘icky’ about what we were doing on the lounge, Padawan.”

Obi-Wan looked down rather suddenly to hide the wide grin he couldn’t control.

Jicky snorted and headed to her room to change, muttering, “And my master wonders where I get from.”


End file.
